He abruptly punched her in the back of her head with a dizzying blow.
She screamed, “No, get off me! Stop! Stop! Oh my God, no!”
Deuce struck her again and again, wanting her to shut up, and the third punch knocked her out cold. While punching her, he continued to squeeze the back of her neck forcefully, his fingertips sinking further into her flesh.
Finally, there was silence from her, and he could enjoy the pussy in peace. He continued to fuck her, thrusting inside of the girl’s now wilted body, feeling his orgasm brewing. But he was unaware that he’d killed the girl with his punches and his firm chokehold from behind.
He came inside of the girl and felt some relief. All of his problems quickly dissipated. He pulled out of her pussy and the girl’s body collapsed completely to the floor. She was unresponsive. He muttered, “Oh shit!”
What the fuck had he done? Deuce was high as fuck, but looking at the dead girl quickly sobered him up. He stared at her naked body, knowing he had gone too far. The war with his rivals had him upset, and he’d lost his temper.
He got decent and reached for his cell phone. On the other end was Jimmy. “It’s me,” he said. “I need you at the strip club. I got a problem that needs to be handled.”
Jimmy said, “I’m on my way.”
Deuce ended the call. With a dead body by his feet, he lit a cigarette and smoked. He was a cold-blooded killer, but he had a conscience and empathy. He would have never done this to this young female if shit hadn’t been so crazy lately. He had fucked up. In business, taking someone’s life was like taking out the trash to him—he did it without giving it a second thought. But the stripper, he honestly didn’t want her dead. He felt no remorse, but still it bugged him. How was this young girl with the good pussy dead and he couldn’t manage to kill Scott West? That nigga was still breathing. Looking at the corpse infuriated him. It made him feel inferior.
A few minutes later, Jimmy knocked on the door, and Deuce got up to let him in. Jimmy’s face was full of questions when he saw the dead stripper.
Deuce looked at the body and back at Jimmy. “Shit got crazy.”
Jimmy smirked. Deuce had lost his mind. Killing strippers wasn’t at the top of his hit list.
“Yo,” Deuce stated, “as far as I’m concerned, Scott West killed her. That nigga got my mind twisted. I’m gonna murder that old head. And now I prefer to do the killing in front of his entire family.”
Jimmy stood silent. Deuce was making the easy complicated.
20
When Lucky heard the news about the attempted hit on her father, she went ape shit. Like Meyer, she was ready to get her gun and retaliate. Although he was putting her mother through some shit and she didn’t like it, that was still her father, and she was Daddy’s little girl. She’d immediately contacted her father. She wanted to see him, but he told her he was okay and to stay where she was. Like he told his twin boys, he told Lucky he wanted her to wear a bulletproof vest whenever she went out into public. She was against it. How would she get away with wearing a vest in the summer weather with a light outfit? Scott wouldn’t relent, though. He also put armed goons inside and outside her building and instructed them to watch her twenty-four/seven.
Lucky paced around her apartment, smoking a cigarette, plotting her escape from Daddy’s men. One was posted right outside her door looking like a Secret Service agent in his black suit. He stood out in the decorative hallway like a tree in the ocean. Two men were lingering in the lobby, and a fourth man sat in a black SUV right outside the building. They were always there, just watching and waiting for something that might not happen. But they were insurance if something did.
Lucky was stressed with her pending drug case, her mother’s worries about the bitch her father was cheating with, and her father escaping death. The news was upsetting for her. She wondered who could have gotten that close to him. Scott moved slyly and quietly around town, and he often ran with killers that could probably take on the president’s detail. Whoever they were, she knew they were smart, patient, and dangerous. Her father was a marked man, but they all were, and there was an enemy out there who hadn’t yet revealed himself. She went crazy trying to put the pieces together. She didn’t want to lose anyone else in her family.
The thought had never occurred to her before, but was all this, including her three young siblings’ deaths, her fault? She was the one who had scouted Wilmington, knowing they would be stepping on another dealer’s empire. As soon as the thought came to her mind, she pushed it right back out. She was her mother’s child, and guilt wasn’t top on their lists.
She smoked another cigarette and stepped out onto the balcony. She stared at the half-moon so high and sighed. The city was wrapped up in darkness and cool air.
Another thing troubled Lucky. Whistler had been avoiding her phone calls and her altogether. She questioned his loyalty to the family. There were too many what-ifs. What if he was the one responsible for her drug bust? Was it a coincidence that right after she confronted him at his apartment, she got pulled over with narcotics in her car? What if he was secretly plotting against her father? What if the drug war was with Deuce, but Whistler was behind the West kids’ murders? It made sense in her eyes. He’d been the number two for so long now, maybe now he was craving for the number-one position. Maybe he wanted to wear the crown. So many thoughts. So many questions.
The funny thing, though, was Lucky still loved him and still wanted to be with him. She needed to see him alone, but with her father’s men scattered all over the building, it would be difficult. However she had a plan. She needed to distract the first man outside her door.
Dressed in her nightgown, she opened the door to interact with the man. She invited him inside. At first, he resisted, preferring to stand by his post and do his job. He knew the repercussions from Scott would be severe and maybe deadly if he failed to protect Lucky.
Lucky was persistent. “Please, come inside and join me for a drink. I’m lonely. With everything that’s been going on with my family, especially my father, I just need some company.” She batted her eyes at the man.
He relented and stepped foot inside the apartment, and the door closed. The trap was set.
An hour later, the man lay face down unconscious on her couch. The sleeping pills she’d mixed into his drink would leave him like that for hours. She only hoped that she hadn’t given him so many where he wouldn’t wake up. But that was a tomorrow problem.
With him out of the way, Lucky readied herself to leave the apartment and arranged for an Uber driver. First, she had to look a certain way. She wanted to catch Whistler’s attention tonight.
Leaving the apartment in red lace pasties and thong panties covered by a thin overcoat, Lucky made her way to the service elevator. Her outfit was daring, but Lucky had always been a brave woman, and tonight was no different. She took the service elevator to the ground floor and glided away from the front entrance because going through the lobby would be risky. She left the building via the rear door. A block away, she climbed into a blue Lexus and told the driver her location. He nodded.
Lucky sat back. It was definitely a risk leaving her home alone, but it was a risk she was willing to take.
Half an hour later, Lucky marched through the lobby of the towering building in midtown Manhattan, strutted into the elevator, and pushed for the 13th floor. She ascended, butterflies in her stomach. Lucky was a drug distributor, and she dealt with some dangerous men and went toe to toe with killers and police, but tonight she was a nervous little girl. She looked and felt eighteen years old.
The elevator stopped on the 13th floor, and she stepped out into the carpeted hallway. She made a left and sauntered toward Whistler’s apartment. She and Whistler had to talk on so many levels, starting with their relationship. Where did she stand with him? Since her brutal beating, she had been pushed aside and forgotten. She didn’t want to be forg
otten by him. They had too much history together, and she felt they had chemistry too. But what if he betrayed her family? What if he wanted to wear the crown? And what if, and it was a hurtful speculation, but what if he was responsible for her siblings’ deaths? Then what? Could she kill Whistler herself—choose her family over the man she had loved for years?
Lucky knew she had some hard decisions coming her way. The speculations she had about Whistler were interfering with her feelings for him. How would she find proof? Did she want to look for evidence? Once he put that big dick inside of her and thrust her onto cloud nine, would the speculation go away? Would his sins be forgiven, if there were any sins?
Lucky stood in front of the door and knocked. There was no hesitation. She wanted to see him. She wanted to talk to him and feel wanted by him, fuck his brains out, and spend the night with him tonight. She wanted to open her coat and reveal the sexy outfit she had on underneath.
And then the door opened.
Lucky was taken aback, her anticipation speedily transitioning to hurt and anger when she saw the young, voluptuous girl inside the apartment. She had the audacity to answer Whistler’s door wearing one of his T-shirts.
The girl looked at Lucky bitterly and asked, “Who is you?”
“Bitch, who is you? And where’s Whistler?” Lucky shouted.
The girl blocked Lucky’s entry into the apartment. “Whistler is none of your fuckin’ business.”
Lucky couldn’t control herself. Her fists tightened and she thrust them forward, striking the girl in the face, making her stumble, then pushed her way into the apartment. “I’m the bitch that’s about to kick your fuckin’ ass!”
The girl was down for a moment with a bloody nose. She was cursing as she leaked blood all over Whistler’s pristine carpet.
Lucky needed to find Whistler. She stormed into the bedroom and saw the wrinkled sheets, the condom wrappers on the floor, and two bottles of opened champagne. The room reeked of sex. Lucky was crushed. Whistler had easily replaced her with another bitch, and she felt devastated.
The young girl stormed into the bedroom behind Lucky. “You broke my fuckin’ nose, bitch!”
“I’m about to break your fuckin’ face, bitch!” Lucky screamed, ready to wipe the floor with her. She was ready to charge at the girl and show her how she got down. Lucky felt she had the strength to throw the girl through the bedroom window and decorate the sidewalk with her insides.
But then Whistler came running into the bedroom dressed in a towel and placed himself between the feuding girls. He was securing his towel with one hand and holding a pistol in the other. He was shocked to see Lucky inside his apartment.
“Why are you here, Lucky?” he asked.
“Because, nigga, I fuckin’ belong here, not that bitch!”
Whistler looked at the girl’s bleeding nose. “You okay?”
She nodded.
He looked at Lucky like she was a monster. “You need to leave,” he said to her in a calm tone.
“Or what? You gonna shoot me, Whistler? Huh?” she said with sadness. “That bitch sucks your dick better than I do, huh? What? Because I’m damaged goods, and I ain’t pretty like I used to be, you gonna discard me like that?”
He sighed. “You just need to leave. Let’s not make things complicated for us,” he said.
Lucky stood in the center of his bedroom overcome with so many mixed emotions, she felt like she was on a merry-go-round with her feelings. Everything was turning faster, and there was no way for her to get off. She stood there looking pitiful with her droopy eye. Whistler made her feel ugly. She wanted to beat the disrespectful and loud-mouth bitch down. Seeing Whistler look out for her and ask if she was okay tore her apart. Then she composed herself as she remembered her mother’s words. “Act like a lady. Be the bigger person, and don’t let these niggas see you sweat.”
He wasn’t worth it. Lucky had too much going on, and Whistler would not become another problem for her. Reality set in. Their relationship was over. She looked at him stoically and calmly said, “You should have told me.”
“I did, and you wouldn’t listen,” he replied.
She was listening now.
“You need help, Lucky, some serious help. You’re emotional, and our relationship was always on thin ice,” he said.
Whistler was putting everything on her as if she was an emotional and delusional child. He’d only pulled away after her attack and disfigurement. He’d never officially said to her face that they were through, that he was tired of her. He’d come up with excuses about being tired, having business out of town, and about it being late, but he’d never said it was over.
She had nothing else to say. She held her head high and refused to cry. She glared at his new bitch and walked right by them both and exited. Though she shed no tears in front of them, on the inside she was torn apart and crying like a baby. The man she loved did not love her back.
***
With Lucky gone, Whistler stood near the bedroom window brooding. His female company was in the bathroom nursing her bloody nose. He smoked a cigarette and watched life happen in the city from his bedroom window. He knew that his separation from Lucky wasn’t going to be amicable, and chances were, she would go running to her daddy with her problems. It was the last thing Whistler wanted her to do—involve Scott. He’d fucked up, and he knew it. He needed to talk to Scott first, before the problem with Lucky spiraled out of control.
He finished the cigarette and reached for his cell phone to call his boss.
The phone rang, and Scott answered, “Speak, nigga!”
“I need to talk to you—It’s important—but not over the phone,” Whistler said.
“Come to the penthouse tomorrow morning, say, around ten,” Scott said.
“I’ll be there.”
Their call ended.
Whistler wasn’t a fool. He figured Lucky would run to her daddy upset and tell him everything, so Whistler figured if he spoke to Scott first, conversed man-to-man with his longtime friend, he could spin it where it didn’t sound like he was a pedophile. Maybe Scott would see things his way. It wasn’t like Scott was an angel himself. Whistler knew of plenty of young girls that Scott took advantage of throughout their friendship, Penelope included.
Whistler was confident that his friend would see things his way. They would talk, and he would correct the situation. They had over twenty years of friendship, and they were more like brothers than friends.
Unbeknownst to Whistler, Scott was already aware of their relationship. Lucky had already called her father, and when Whistler had called him, Scott was standing in her apartment, consoling his baby girl. He was ready to confront Whistler with two taps to the side of his dome. He felt that Whistler had no side of the story. He had taken advantage of his little girl and put his dick where it didn’t belong.
21
Lucky called her father right after she left Whistler’s apartment. The moment he answered his phone and heard Lucky choking up with emotions, he was ready to go see her. She was his only living daughter, and he couldn’t lose her.
At first, Scott thought she was calling about Layla and his mistress. Lucky played dumb as if she had no clue what he was talking about.
“Lucky, where are you?” Scott had asked her.
“Daddy, I’m over at Whistler’s place.”
He was confused. “Why are you there? Where is your security?”
“Please, Daddy, just come get me.”
“I’m on the way.”
Scott arrived at Whistler’s apartment ten minutes later.
Lucky got in the Escalade in tears and they headed to her place, where she spilled information out to her father like she was WikiLeaks. She knew Whistler would try to crack the news to her father first with his version. She told Scott how the thirty-nine-year-old Whistler had taken advantage of her whe
n she was only sixteen, and she had gotten pregnant. She was careful not to say “rape,” not wanting to lay it on too thick. She also told Scott that Whistler had made her get an abortion at the clinic. Lucky added the abortion part to spice up the lie, knowing what her mother had told her about her abortion twenty-some years ago would strike a chord with her father.
Scott was silent, taking everything in. The look on his face was murderous. It had transformed several times from rage, incredulousness, pity, sorrow, anger, and back to rage. He was astonished Lucky had gone to such great lengths Lucky to be with Whistler and keep their relationship a secret.
Scott’s phone rang. It was Whistler. He managed to contain his rage and set up a meeting for the following day. He hung up and sat there looking at his little girl.
The tears continued to well up in Lucky’s eyes. “Daddy, I still love him, but he never loved me. He used me. He fucked me, and he used me.”
She also mentioned her theory to Scott, that maybe Whistler had something to do with the murders of her siblings.
“It has to be him, Daddy! He’s the mastermind. He killed them all.”
It was a hard pill to swallow, but Scott was listening. Whistler had always been smart and shrewd. Could he be the mastermind behind the sudden attack on their family?
The accusation created more rage in Scott, and he became so furious, he sprung up and slammed his fist into the wall, creating a crater-size hole. “I’m gonna kill him!” he shouted in a frenzy.
Lucky had never seen him so mad, but it was the reaction she expected from him.
Scott smashed pieces of furniture and shattered glass.
She let him fume for a moment, and eventually, she calmed him down, and the questions from him began. He wanted to know everything.
He looked intensely at his daughter and asked, “Why didn’t you come to me with this earlier about . . . about the pregnancy?”
“I was in love, Daddy. I didn’t want you to do anything to him.”
Mafioso [Part 2] Page 13
